The sweet perfume of gardenias rise,
caress the senses with passive fragrance,
and at their presence my awareness festers-
not by sight, nor by soul, but rather
some subteranean desire

A tap! A stir of that trembling thing,
which lies trapped beneath the skin of man
And with vehemence it rises,
forgotten monster, lost to lore
Old histories that bubble in the blood
Primordial lineage, heritage of wild dawn

Brewing with passion, brood of nature and man,
so burning in the moment,
drunk on manufactured feelings,
With it awakened, all the universe seems to race, to pulse-
and so it sings;
"Spring is coming! The world is alive!"

The flowers blossom with buzzing splendor
Daisies, sunflowers, orchids, dahlias
Colors and hues of joy and delight,
Palette of new-born glee
The roses laying among them,
ruffling their layered scarlet dresses
In hypnotizing swirls all troubles dissolves to affection

Each sit pretty in perfect rows
Each blossom a near plastic complexion
Crafted, subdued, formed, pruned to exact mold
Cultivated to arouse an instinct,
and set illusion to the throbbing urge-
for life, exists within their black chambers
Those petaled maidens sitting in mirror of spring's designs

I feel an ache, my body trembles
to a realization it treats merely a poison to purge
These white walls who echo steady chatter, the rattle of shopping carts,
who have only passing use of Earth's fickle flesh,
who know how pointless all those other things become,
when all consumption awaits
They **** the tacit question, to cool the void of passion slayed;

"How much does it cost to buy spring?"